To be safe
by Markath
Summary: This is another try for Harold and John (set somewhere after 4C/Provenance because I felt they were still both lost and needed some fixing). Rinch in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Thank you for encouraging me again to return to the original story, _scully1138_!

And of course...for everything else!

And _Wuchel_ for her quiet (and unknown) support.

Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Person of Interest.

* * *

It was early morning - still dark outside and cold inside the Library - when Finch arrived to check on their latest number while contacting Reese via phone.

"Finch?" His partner's voice sounded weary through the speakers.

"We have a new number, Mr. Reese."

"I'm on my way," came the soft reply.

The noise he heard through the speakers just before Reese cut the line sounded like someone getting out of bed. For a moment Harold started to add that there would be no hurry at this time, but then a 'click' made it clear that John was already on his way.

Harold felt a sudden sting of helplessness. What was it anyway, what could he have said to Mr. Reese? Familiar banter - once so natural to them - seemed impossible now. Harold still didn't know how to approach a mourning Reese properly. Nothing was the same since they had returned from Rome and nothing he could say would put it right, so Harold preferred the silence.

But did he really?

He closed his eyes. To be honest, no. He wished he had the courage to confront John on this topic and not let him go until they had spoken clearly - like friends, like the way they had been before. Before John had lost his temper, his duty and his will to survive because of _what had happened to Joss_.

Harold was still wondering what had changed along the way that they lost this _thing_ between them - the _connection_ that would allow him to ask John how he could help - how they could get through this together, not alone.

When had "a problem shared is a problem halved" become out of the question?

He shook his head and returned to the computer screen. Time to work - not to dream about something that would never happen.

Half an hour passed and Mr. Reese showed up at the library - with coffee and a Sencha green tea. Although Harold didn't show it he was touched. John had thought of him, and every little gesture counted. But he still felt lost himself, with no idea what to do about it. And it only took one quick glance to see that John was tired and not in a talkative mood.

Harold quickly briefed his partner about their number - an older lady with a dog, living in a rather expensive apartment on the Upper West Side not far from Central Park - and admitted that he had no clue yet as to the nature of the danger to her. John departed promptly to begin his surveillance of the elderly woman.

In the silence of the Library, Harold's mind slipped back to John. What could he do?

* * *

After a long day spent mostly on the opposite rooftop watching over their number's apartment, Reese finally got a chance to change his stakeout. He spotted the old woman - a Mrs. Anderson - walking with her poodle towards Central Park. John was happy to move his cold feet and leave the rooftop at last. He hadn't expected the woman to stay at home the entire day, but considering the weather perhaps it was not uncommon for the elderly lady. There had been clouds and a light snowfall throughout the day, but now as dusk fell the clouds were gone and the sun sent its last rays over a glittering New York.

John took one last look then stamped his feet to stimulate his circulation before running down the stairs. It had been a long, boring day in one location but he hadn't even tried to contact Harold, preferring to keep his mind blank. There was less danger of brooding over _unanswered questions_ that way.

He reached the ground floor and looked around. The woman and her dog stopped by a tree while the poodle took care of business, and then continued their slow walk along a path near a frozen pond.

John was tired; he was freezing, hungry and thirsty. And - he realized - he had nearly lost the will to protect this old lady. From what, anyway? She had spent the entire day indoors. His patience came to an end along with the day, as the sun faded behind the horizon and the sky grew dusky.

That's why he nearly missed the dark figure heading directly at the woman.

Channelling the anger he felt at himself and the world into his sprint, he raced toward the frozen pond. But as he heard the woman's scream - and a 'crack' and a 'splash' - he already _knew_ that this time he would be too late.


	2. Chapter 2

The elderly woman had been pushed onto the thin pond ice which had immediately broken under her weight, submerging both her and her dog in the icy water. Her instinctive flailing was only making the situation worse, and another scream escaped her lips before she sank beneath the water, pulling the struggling poodle with her.

John didn't hesitate; he removed his warm wool coat and carefully slid across the ice on his belly. The pond didn't appear too deep so he cautiously sunk his arms into the frigid water and reached for the still form of the old lady. The dog suddenly burst to the surface, struggling to free itself from the tangled leash, and in the chaos John never saw the shadowy figure who roughly shoved him into the frigid pond.

In the shock of the bitter-cold water he cursed his lack of concentration. When had he gotten so careless about his surroundings? Why was he so distracted, and when had this all become so difficult? But deep down he knew the reason: he was shaken to the core. He had been led to believe that he could change the world, that he could fight for his redemption by saving people. But he had failed. He had now failed amongst others the two most important women in his life.

And there was nothing - _no one - _left to help regain the sense of safety that he had lost. He had hoped that Harold would guide him back, but his friend had stopped talking to him - always changing the topic and giving him no chance to talk about his struggles. Perhaps Harold thought he was a failure too.

The possibility to end it all - to give up on his fight for life - was so close.

But the sudden image of a lonely Harold in the library with a lifeless body next to him made John change his mind. And this old woman certainly didn't deserve to die. He grabbed her and with his last bit of strength pulled them both back to the surface. The dark figure had vanished.

He carefully placed the woman on the ice and - after hoisting himself out of the cold water - dragged her safely back to solid ground.

John began to shiver. With chattering teeth he called 911 and reported an emergency at the exact location where he had laid the old woman down. He picked up his wool coat - grateful for this gift from Harold - and placed it around the old lady to keep her warm until help arrived. Her poodle had freed himself and returned to her side, barking into the frigid night.

There was nothing else he could do so he climbed to his feet and disappeared into the shadows as the sound of sirens and shouts approached the park. He was glad that help would soon arrive for the old woman, but he was too weary to go after her mysterious assailant. That's when the coughing started. Damn, he was cold. He managed a few more yards before an icy wind sent chills through his body and John realized that he couldn't stay on his feet any longer. Too weak to even break his fall, he collapsed head first into the fresh white snow.

He had lost his phone while rescuing the old woman so there was no chance that he would be found. But did he even want to be? He was freezing without his wool coat and tired to the bones. He felt worn out. But it was also strangely comfortable here. The sky with the stars above him, the silence around him - this must be what heaven was like. John began to come to terms with his fate. His battered body began to imagine that the snow felt warm and he closed his eyes, resting peacefully for the first time in weeks as he drifted away. Harold was the last thought on his mind.

* * *

"Mr. Reese?"

"Where's Wonderboy?"

Harold was startled to recognize Detective Fusco's voice on his partner's phone. Had something happened to John?

"What do you mean?"

"I was there at the emergency scene and it was obvious that _he_ pulled the old lady out of the water. Normally I hear from him afterwards but he's nowhere around. And I found his phone in the snow near the pond."

"He's not here with me." Harold reacted instantly - overwhelmed by worry - and moved instinctively toward the door, grabbing his coat on the way.

"Any guesses, Detective?"

"Most likely he went in the water too, so he can't be far. I'll start looking for him."

"As will I, Detective. I'll see you in the park. And in the meantime, please hang on to that phone."

"Will do."

John still lay where he had fallen when his partner found him, and Harold was both relieved and shocked by his appearance. Never had he seen such peace on the face of John Reese. Kneeling beside him Harold found a pulse, though it was very weak. John's body was ice cold from the freezing clothes, and Harold could get no reaction from him. John was apparently already unconscious. He called Detective Fusco and implored him to hurry.

Harold laid down beside John and tried to warm him with his own body. He carefully opened John's wet shirt, and after unbuttoning his own clothes he crawled beneath the other man, placing himself between John and the frozen ground. He pulled his coat over both of them.

John was so cold that at first Harold began to shiver as well, but he continued to press himself against the other man's bare skin in order to warm him. After a moment of hesitation he put his arms around John to hold him steady.

He had not been this close to anyone since Grace, and suddenly he became aware of his deep loneliness as he clung to John. Harold felt a sudden longing to be held, to be taken care of, to be…claimed. He still loved Grace, though, so where was _this_ coming from? A rush of feelings that he was no longer able to deny raced down his spine as he was nearly overwhelmed by desire and the passionate tremblings that shook his body. He rarely allowed his protective wall to come down, but in this moment it had shattered to pieces. He couldn't deny his body's reaction. All he wanted was to be close to John again, to protect John the _same way_ that John protected him.

He closed his eyes as he felt John's heartbeat begin to race, and he was suddenly aware that his partner seemed aroused as well. Did John feel _this closeness_ too?

He was startled by John softly calling his name, and Harold opened his eyes to discover steel blue eyes that were full of emotion looking directly into his own.

"Mr. Reese," he stammered, "I thought you were…were unconscious."

Flustered, he released his grip on John and tried not to look down to where his _longing_ could so obviously be seen. He fought against the impulse to stand and leave at once.

But the small smile on John's face was very soft. "Thanks to you I'm back."

Harold found his voice again as well. "Help is on the way, Mr. Reese. I just thought I would keep you warm until then…"

He tried to pull his arms away but John caught him by the wrists.

"Don't," John whispered. "Please…stay where you are. It feels good…to be close." And then he added with deep desperation in his low husky voice, "…_to be safe_."

"You are always safe with me, John," Harold assured him, but then he paused.

"Have I done something to make you believe otherwise? Have I ever?"

With these words Harold tried to confess his pain, but to John's ears it sounded almost like an accusation.

John let go of their embrace. And before he could speak Detective Fusco called to them from the distance, and he watched as Harold scrambled to his feet.

The intimate moment was over - and so was all possibility of talking.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to LoveIsInTheAir4DL who asked for more. I am still in the writing process, but RL steps always in. Thank you!

* * *

"How is Wonderboy?" the approaching detective called out to Harold.

John straightened and looked up at Fusco. "I'm fine," he said tiredly, wrapping himself in Harold's coat and trying to stand. He staggered, but Lionel caught him by the arm.

"Got ya."

One look at John told him all that he needed to know - especially not to ask any more questions. Instead he said, "You had us all a little worried after rescuing that old woman from the pond and then disappearing like that. It's a good thing he found you." He nodded in Harold's direction. John said nothing and Harold, shivering now also, simply nodded back.

Fusco shouldered John's weight and took a step forward.

"Let's get you both home. You look like you need warming up. My car is just around the corner."

With difficulty, they finally reached the detective's car, and Fusco carefully helped John into the front seat next to the heater. Harold took the back seat and immediately gave the detective an address where he could drop off both of them.

* * *

Harold led the way and John followed him slowly through the door of another safe house. He wasn't feeling quite as cold as before, and he went straight into the bathroom and under the shower, trusting Harold to manage the rest. John let the water slowly revive him while he contemplated his situation.

He had felt so safe in Harold's arms - and all he wanted right now was to crawl back into them. And Harold also wanted closeness - and perhaps more - with him, John felt sure of it now. But it wasn't Harold's way to act upon his feelings, and he had no idea that his desire reflected John's own longing as well.

The feeling of skin upon skin, and of having someone that close who knew him better than anyone else - someone with whom he didn't have to pretend, with whom he only needed to be himself. To be allowed to touch, and to fulfill what was obviously a two-way yearning. A yearning, John realized painfully, that would never come to pass on its own. So how could he convince Harold to take this chance, to allow them to both feel safe again?

He didn't know how much time had passed before there was a knock on the door.

"There's a bed ready for you. Do you need anything else, Mr. Reese?"

John sighed. Back to "Reese" again. "Coming Finch, one minute."

He left the shower still bone-tired, but mostly just feeling desolate again.

"Mr. Reese, please take the painkillers and anti-fever medicine I placed on the nightstand, and then get some sleep," Harold insisted.

"I will Finch," John replied, too weary to argue.

All he needed was a couple hours of sleep. Would there be a chance to talk later? Or was he merely deluding himself?

* * *

John was already in bed when Harold knocked cautiously and entered the room, bringing with him an electric blanket. "I had forgotten that I left this here."

Harold plugged in the blanket and covered John with it - all while doing his best to avoid looking at him.

He heard a faint "Thank you" and "Hmmm…" and realized that John had finally drifted off.

Satisfied that John was tucked tightly into bed, Harold made himself a cup of tea and pondered his thoughts. John was only a few yards away now but he was still unsure of his feelings. How could he know what he wanted when he didn't really understand it himself?

This sudden longing - he hadn't known this before. Not this strong. He remembered wanting Grace - spending time with, talking to her, simply being beside her - but he had denied himself all this after Nathan's death.

But this, with John, this was different.

He was scared, and that was something he couldn't deal with right now. He turned to the laptop he kept at the safe house and began working - the only thing that helped him relax and forget about his troubles.

* * *

John woke up after several hours of exhausted sleep. He still felt a little dizzy but the pills had done their work and he wanted to get up. Once again he greatly missed the feeling of closeness he felt when Harold had held him in his arms. Still wrapped in the warm, thick blanket he began looking for Harold.

But he received no warm welcome.

"Mr. Reese, you should stay in bed." Harold's voice was dead serious.

"I know," he admitted softly, almost losing the courage to speak. How could he explain this longing for closeness that was compelling him?

"Then what are you doing here?"

John closed his eyes for a second and took his heart in his hands to confront Harold directly.

"I can't sleep…"

"There are more pills for you should you need them…" Harold answered quickly with knitted brows.

"No," John refused adamantly. "I simply meant…"

Why was it so difficult to make himself clear?

"Would you sit by my bed and help me forget…like before…" He didn't know how to continue and he knew that just speaking the words was a risk, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted so badly to be held again, to be touched again, that he didn't care about the consequences his words might bring.

Harold's reaction was simple: "Oh." And then: "What do you expect me to do, Mr. Reese? - Do you want me to hold your hand?"

The rejection was obvious and painful. All John wanted was some comfort, nothing further - although if he were really being honest with himself he wasn't even sure that was true. It didn't matter. It was clear that the only comfort Harold was ready to give had been that moment in the snow.

He turned and left Harold without a word.

* * *

"John. Wait."

Harold regretted his words instantly. He had reacted poorly and he knew it.

"Of course I can sit by your bed if that will make you feel better," he said softly. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing but I'll try."

To confirm his words he touched John's arm briefly.

John turned and looked directly into his eyes.

"Harold…" he whispered, his voice hoarse as he leaned his head gently against Finch's brow.

Harold stiffened at the unexpected contact.

"I'm still confused and I know that I'm not myself right now. But please…I need you. Stay close to me. I won't harm you or try to get around your defenses…you know that."

Harold was unprepared for the storm of emotions this small moment unleashed in him. His heart began racing and he felt butterflies in his stomach - and he began trembling as he realized that his desire for John had overwhelmed and aroused him again, just as before in the snow.

Except this time, Harold was sure, John had noticed. Flustered, he stepped back.

"Maybe next time, Mr. Reese…"

But John had detected his desire and held onto him.

"Come with me."

John took his hand and gently guided him back to the bedroom. Harold felt torn apart by his feelings, but it was clear that John understood that he was way out of his depth.

John closed the door and sat Harold down on the bed, making him as comfortable as possible. Still wrapped in the blanket he lowered himself to his knees and said frankly, "You know I won't hurt you. Will you just lie next to me?"

"John," Harold inhaled deeply. "I don't know…how to…never done this before…"

Before he could gather his thoughts any further, John began shivering again.

"Let me get you under the electric blanket and warm you up," Harold said, suddenly decisive. He pulled John up gently.

"I won't argue with that, Harold," John said with a half-smile as he got into bed and under the blanket.

John was looking at him, waiting for him to follow, to put an end to his shivering. And to Harold it looked like a shiver of both cold and excitement.

Harold removed his clothes - jacket, trousers, vest, shirt, undershirt and socks - and folded them neatly on the chair beside the bed. Still feeling a little bit embarrassed, he left his silk boxers on as he settled onto the bed and slid cautiously under John's side of the blanket. But John was waiting for him with open arms, leaving Harold no other possibility then to slip into his embrace, which he did after a moment's hesitation.

Harold had meant only to comfort John, just to hold him for a moment. But he had underestimated his growing desire for John, and overestimated his own control.

They lay like before in the snow, with John keeping quiet and still, giving Harold a chance to settle himself. Slowly at first, Harold began to explore John's body by simply caressing him with one hand. As his confidence grew, he tenderly made his way from John's arms over his shoulders, down his chest and belly. He touched the scars, the bruises, the smooth skin - which had been cold at first but grew more heated as Harold approached John's hip and admired the firm curves and muscles of the man lying beside him.

But John suddenly caught his hands.

"Wait, we can take this slowly. I'm still exhausted, but I'll be so happy if you stay here with me tonight." John smiled shyly at him. "And tomorrow - if you would like - I promise...more."

Harold felt himself blushing but he returned John's smile and nodded.

"I'm sorry John, you're right. I should rest a little too. And since there's no new number…"

He made himself comfortable and let John spoon him, feeling safe and warm.

"No need to apologize, Harold. I'm just grateful that you are here with me," John whispered softly in his ear.

Both men were peacefully asleep with minutes.


End file.
